Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

Unseasonably and unreasonably cold here on the East coast, I have taken to wearing these dazzling booties. Not even the cats will be seen with me. Where, you may wonder, did I find these treasures? They were in my Nana's closet, still wrapped in the produce bags that she uses to suffocate and preserve all of her unused oldies but goodies. She thought they might be nice for the cold inside my aunt and uncles' house, since I don't believe in heat. I mean, I know it exists, I just don't think it's good for the sinuses. May have to change my ways... Perhaps I will return to L.A. a completely different animal. I get out here and start doing hot yoga, stop driving my car, purchase an iPhone and incessantly sweep my fingers across its screen, start eating pork regularly (the Jews are right about this one - it's a doozy to digest) and doing all sorts of previously unthinkable things - like wearing this highly flammable and extremely reproachable foot gear.

Trees

(an excerpt)

I am looking at trees
they may be one of the things I will miss
most from the earth
though many of the ones I have seen
already I cannot remember
and though I seldom embrace the ones I see
and have never been able to speak
with one
I listen to them tenderly
their names have never touched them
they have stood round my sleep
and when it was forbidden to climb them
they have carried me in their branches


by W. S. Merwin from The Compass Flower

Big, Bad, Wolf Chocolate Chip Cookies

These thick and chewy cookies are tasty served warm from the oven or cooled. To achieve a chewy texture, leave the cookies on the cookie sheet to cool. The sea salt complements the sweetness of the cookies. For a fun variation, you can substitute cinnamon chocolate chips for the semi-sweet chips in the recipe.

INGREDIENTS:
2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 1/2 sticks), melted and slightly cooled
1 cup dark brown sugar
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
Sea salt (NOT finely ground)

DIRECTIONS:
1. Heat the oven to 325 degrees. Adjust oven racks to upper- and lower-middle positions. Whisk flour, salt, and baking soda together in a medium bowl; set aside.

2. With an electric mixer, mix butter and sugars until thoroughly blended. Stir in egg, yolk, and vanilla. Mix in the dry ingredient until just combined. Stir in the chips.

3. Form scant 1/4 cup portions of dough into balls. Holding the dough balls with fingertips, pull into two equal halves. This will create a rough edge on half of the dough. Rotate halves so that the craggy surface is exposed. Now, join halves together at their base to form a single cookie. Don’t smooth the dough’s uneven surface – this will give them a nice texture when they are finished baking. Place the shaped dough onto one of two parchment paper-lined cookie sheets, about nine dough balls per sheet. Sprinkle each cookie with a bit of sea salt. (The dough can be refrigerated up to 2 days or frozen up to 2 months.)

4. Bake, reversing cookie sheets’ positions halfway through baking, until cookies are light golden brown and outer edges start to harden. The centers should still be soft and puffy. Start checking the oven at 13 minutes. The cookies should achieve the desired consistency between 15 and 18 minutes. (Frozen dough may require extra time in the oven.) Cool the cookies on cookie sheets. Serve or store in an airtight container.

recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

Making friends in a new place is like being on a perpetual series of blind dates; I'd rather drink ink. I recently moved (for at least 3 months) to Boston from L.A. And I suppose that making friends in a new city is one of the first steps to making a place your home - impermanent as it may be. I am also told that friendships really make living in a specific location worthwhile, no matter how cloying the humidity, confusing the street signs or lack thereof, or preppy the local footwear. So I went on what I'd like to call woman dates. I was set up, just like one would be set up on a blind date. Except I wasn't trying to get into this girl’s pants I was just hoping to carve out a friendly, little place in her heart. I'm not sure, though, which fortress would be easier to infiltrate.

When I first arrived on the East coast, I went on a casual double date with my boyfriend, my road trip companion (Madeline), and her friend Joy. The whole point was for me to meet Joy, since she lived in the Boston area and was obviously interesting because she was a friend of Madeline’s. My first impression was promising – cute outfit, great eyelashes – yeah, yeah I'm totally superficial and only befriend the well-heeled and the beautiful. Honestly though, she had a cool job (which I can’t really remember now), spoke cleverly, and was pleasant to be around – except for the fact that she ate so slowly, which made me feel like a human canoli. So I thought the evening had gone well. I should have guessed otherwise though, because when I asked for tips about good theater or cultural activities she looked at me with a moon face not even an inbred, 16th century aristocrat could have mustered. But I didn’t really need her to be “the cultured friend”. I just needed a friend. So we exchanged numbers and I waited an appropriate amount of time to call her without seeming too eager - which I was. She gave me her real phone number which was a step in the right direction and I left a message.

I waited a few days for a response: a call, a text, maybe she had gotten my email from Madeline, something… I got nothing. I had totally been dumped without being given the chance to wear a truly deplorable outfit, or to say something offensive about her culture, or flake for our second date. See how this making friends thing and dating are just different iterations of an exasperating social urge?

So for the next couple of weeks I resigned myself to doing more reading, going to more (bad) yoga classes. Oh yeah, and she was the one who recommended these bad yoga classes that I can’t stop going to because they are so conveniently located and timed with my work schedule. If no one was going to like me, I decided that I would hike more (which is healthier than drinking alone, despite the crazy bug bites) and take some road trips to get the lay of the land (with no one to bother me, I could choose my own music – I have impeccable taste – and I could go wherever I pleased). But hiking solo gets a bit dull. There’s no one to say “Hey, I dare you to eat that purple mushroom” to, and driving alone is tiring and perplexing in a place where roads have no signs and interstates often switch numbers on you like one of those find-the-penny-under-the-cup games. So I decided it was time to play the field again.

This time, my boyfriend set me up on the woman date - she was a friend of his from college. Her name was so cool and alliterative that I thought she couldn’t be for real. I was actually kind of nervous because she works for an NGO, seems to be socially responsible, has lived abroad, is sort of a locavore… man, I was going to have to make up some shit for my friendship resume. Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling all that interesting.

Eight tries and a pile of rumpled clothes resulted in a get-up that suited me and the weather and didn't whimper, "Please, please, PLEASE BE MY FRIEND". Check me out. I decided that I would propose some really neat activities – wow, I just said “neat activities”. I don’t think anyone under the age of ninety wants to hang with someone who hopes to engage in “neat activities”. All right, maybe my “neat activites” wouldn’t fly. But at least I could pick out a good outfit, or purse, or shoes to wear on our first date. Hopefully, I would have a good hair day and my skin would be cooperating rather than reeking havoc on my sense of vanity. Dating friends is so much harder than attracting males. At least when you are on the prowl for a lover, you can always use the temptation (however false it may be) of sex. Plus, flirting is fun - even if you know it’s a road leading nowhere. But there’s no flirting involved in friendship - another reason why making friends and going on woman dates is such an atrocious chore.

But we did go out and we had a fabulous time. We actually got naked on the first date - a fact which reinforces my theory that the success of any date is directly proportional to the amount of nudity involved; woman dates are no exception.

Let me explain the nudity. We went to a very fancy lady's gym (think Curves meets Korean spa meets the Matrix) and pretended to be interested in joining so we could attend a free yoga class. The yoga class was AMAZING. And the spa downstairs was the proverbial cherry on top. I love a good hot tub and being naked totally got me in the mood - for a great meal and good conversation.

So you see, nudity is a requisite for any kind of date. Now, I've got to think of other places where I can meet ladies in their natural state and keep my fingers crossed that they'll like me after I've exposed my true self.

Back to Back

At sixteen my mother had been a swimmer.
I have seen a picture of her

poised at the edge of the pool, knees bent,
hands on knees, and smiling with her teammates.

My aunt once said back then she swam
as gracefully as Esther Williams.

But that is not how I remember her.
It is when I am sixteen and a runner

and am forever wanting to stand against her,
back to back, to see who's taller;

however much I stretch I still come up
an inch short. I've called her up

to have her drive me home from practice.
We ride home in utter silence

after my curt "thanks" and her nod,
not for a lack of feeling, but for want of words.

Following her in, cleats slung over my shoulder,
I tell her to wait, I'll help her.

Already she's at the sink, peeling potatoes
and humming, one foot lifted like a flamingo.

by Debra Kang Dean from News of Home: Poems

Tarragon Buttermilk Pie

This is a down-homey pie with a twist

Serves 8 pie-eatin' folk

INGREDIENTS FOR FOOLPROOF PIE DOUGH:

*Vodka is essential to the texture of the crust insofar as it prevents too much gluten from forming and causing a chewy and heavy crust. The vodka imparts no flavor; do not substitute! This dough will be moister and more supple than most pie doughs and will require more flour to roll out (up to 1/4 cup).

1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (6 1/4 ounces)
½ teaspoon table salt
1 tablespoon sugar
6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter (3/4 stick), cut into 1/4-inch slices
1/4 cup chilled solid vegetable shortening , cut into 2 pieces
2 tablespoons vodka , cold
2 tablespoons cold water

DIRECTIONS FOR FOOLPROOF PIE DOUGH:
1. Process 3/4 cups flour, salt, and sugar together in food processor until combined, about 2 one-second pulses. Add butter and shortening and process until homogenous dough just starts to collect in uneven clumps, about 10 seconds (dough will resemble cottage cheese curds with some very small pieces of butter remaining, but there should be no uncoated flour). Scrape down sides and bottom of bowl with rubber spatula and redistribute dough evenly around processor blade. Add remaining 1/2 cup flour and pulse until mixture is evenly distributed around bowl and mass of dough has been broken up, 4 to 6 quick pulses. Empty mixture into medium bowl.

2. Sprinkle vodka and water over mixture. With rubber spatula, use folding motion to mix, pressing down on dough until dough is slightly tacky and sticks together. Flatten dough into 4-inch disk. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 45 minutes or up to 2 days.

3. Adjust oven rack to lowest position, place rimmed baking sheet on oven rack, and heat oven to 425 degrees. Remove dough from refrigerator and roll out on generously floured (up to ¼ cup) work surface to 12-inch circle about 1/8 inch thick. Roll dough loosely around rolling pin and unroll into pie plate, leaving at least 1-inch overhang on each side. Working around circumference, ease dough into plate by gently lifting edge of dough with one hand while pressing into plate bottom with other hand. Leave overhanging dough in place; refrigerate until dough is firm, about 30 minutes.

4. Trim overhang to ½ inch beyond lip of pie plate. Fold overhang under itself; folded edge should be flush with edge of pie plate. Flute dough or press the tines of a fork against dough to flatten it against rim of pie plate. Refrigerate dough-lined plate until firm, about 15 minutes.

5. Remove pie pan from refrigerator, line crust with foil, and fill with pie weights or pennies. Then cover pie with a layer of foil. Bake for 8 minutes. Remove foil and weights, rotate plate, and bake for an additional 4 minutes, until crust just begins to color.
Fool Proof Pie Dough Recipe is from Cook’s Illustrated

INGREDIENTS FOR FILLING:

*If you love anise, substitute 1 teaspoon anise seed for the 2 teaspoons dried tarragon.

1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
3 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon salt
3 eggs, at room temperature
1 cup buttermilk, at room temperature
2 teaspoon vanilla
2 teaspoons dried tarragon

DIRECTIONS FOR FILLING:
1. In a medium saucepan, melt butter over medium-low heat. Stir in sugar, flour, and salt. Remove from heat and set aside. In an electric mixing bowl, beat eggs medium speed just until fluffy (about 2 minutes). Stir in buttermilk, vanilla, and dried tarragon. Gradually whisk buttermilk mixture into butter mixture until smooth. Pour into prebaked crust. Do not overfill the pie crust. It’s better to discard some of the filling than use it all if it gets too close to the pie dish’s lip.

2. Place pie on oven rack; carefully tent the whole pie with aluminum foil. Bake 55 to 60 minutes or until sides are set and most of the pie remains firm when gently shaken. Center may still look slightly wet, but it will continue cooking and set and also firm up in the refrigerator. The tarragon floats to the top as the pie cooks. Cool on wire rack for 1 hour. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 4 hours before serving. This pie is best served 5 minutes or more after it is taken out of the refrigerator. Serve alone or with candied orange or lemon slices.

* Most dairy that is labeled "buttermilk" in the United States is not true buttermilk. Genuine buttermilk is the low fat dairy that remains after milk has been churned into butter. Modern dairies mimic this traditional buttermilk by fermenting skim milk until it becomes viscous and acidic.


Recipe by Cristina Paul

Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

My plane was delayed and while waiting I took a good look at the diversity of our species and I thought some thoughts...Some people thought it fitting to provide these uncomfortable (I know - I gave them a whirl) rocking chairs to the jet set at the Boston airport. Are these chairs a last resort? A sorry consolation for surviving the stale air and various vectors of disease in this waiting room of the unfriendly skies? Somehow they just didn't make up for the price of the prohibitively expensive flights and the lack of the crappy free food I used to be able to complain about on board. I don't even think the rockers appeased the geriatric crowd. These ladies were emitting noises - half burps, half complaints - it was the chairs' fault. I don't know who is behind the chairs but THEY are uncommonly bad people. Forgo the cost of chairs; I'd rather be served free nuts on the plane - cashews or almonds, roasted and salted please.

I did have some wonderful opportunities to check out the masses.

First, I did some serious tattoo watching. The foot seems to be prime real estate - too many bones there if you ask me.

Then, I saw a straight man with greasy hair in a head band - SCORE!!! That's worth like 5,000 points in the video game of life


Next, I visited the loo - ewww! Public restrooms make me nervous. The bathrooms on airplanes make my teeth itch and my toes curl... and NOT in a good way. Nowadays, when I use a public restroom, I assume that I will not have to manually flush. THEY - as in the aforementioned THEY - must invest in those automated sensor thingies. The less I touch on an airplane and in an airport the better. One of the most wondrous things you get to see at the airport, though, is people brushing their teeth. It's usually a very abbreviated and abashed version of people's real deal. Sometimes you can totally tell that a person developed a whole new style of brushing so as not to embarrass themselves while I stare. Anyhow, you forget that brushing your teeth is kind of a private ritual - it tickles me to watch people's private rituals.

Finally, while nursing a very expensive green tea (Starbucks is the devil and they needn't use double cups, a lid, and a sleeve, but they always do, even though I ask them, kindly, not to and the people who serve me always grimace when I tell them my hands are impervious to heat because I am trying to save the Earth as I purchase second-rate bagged tea from this horrid company) I try to imagine appropriate reading material for each person's carry-on. However, a young man with an ill-fitting pair of punk-rock skinny jeans, basketball shoes that were shiny as a new car and perhaps only slightly less expensive, a crazy haircut for which there is no name or scientific explanation, and a beautiful rosary REALLY stumped me. I'm still thinking about what he could possibly be reading - it completely blows my mind just thinking about it.

All in all I fared better than this poor soul: